


I'm A Zombie, And So Is My Boyfriend

by abrandnewboom



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombies, Gen, Gore, Guro, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-05
Updated: 2012-02-05
Packaged: 2017-10-30 15:47:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abrandnewboom/pseuds/abrandnewboom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a post zombie outbreak London, Yassen and Alex are just trying to enjoy the rest of their undead lives. Unfortunately, this is more difficult than it seems. </p><p>“Wow,” he said looking down at his exploded front, “I thought she’d be torn up when I died, but I didn’t think she’d be <i>this</i> mad at me.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm A Zombie, And So Is My Boyfriend

They crashed in the front window, and Alex tumbled a good ten feet before he sprung to his feet like a cat with a thousand lives to waste.

“Wow,” he said looking down at his exploded front, “I thought she’d be torn up when I died, but I didn’t think she’d be _this_ mad at me.”

Yassen rolled his shoulders with a scowl, and brushed the glass out of his palms. He’d had to toss Alex through the pane, the boy was so intent on tracking his housekeeper’s movements. Never mind that she was toting a gorgeous Canadian Diemaco C8 automatic rifle. If Yassen still had a right hand trigger finger, it would be twitching. Luckily, he still had his left, so that was alright.

"That was a particularly stupid thing you did." Yassen commented scathingly, watching Alex worry at the ragged edges of the shotgun wound in his belly.

Yassen dragged the curtains shut across the broken window, cursing the obvious point of entry.

"Oh, yeah?" Alex snapped back. He tucked in a loop of intestine impatiently, and swore when it popped right on out again through the torn remnants of his t-shirt. "I'd just love to see you face down all six of them and come out on top."

“You call that _on top_?” 

Yassen made an expansive gesture supposed to encompass his incredible failure in direct comparison to all of his own grand zombie deeds. 

Alex called bullshit, and gave him the ring finger. He didn't have any middle ones left.

 

"Just come here." Yassen sighed, and Alex reluctantly did as he asked, standing a foot away, arms folded, chin cocked, and innards threatening to tumble out across the floor.

Yassen frowned and seized him softly about the waist. He dragged him closer, just about into his lap, then commanded him to freeze with a threatening raise of his brows. There he started the thankless task of untangling Alex's disarrayed organs.

"You must be more careful, Alex," he muttered around the length of small intestine he'd placed between his lips to help keep his place in the lower digestive tract. "Pass me that needle and thread to your left."

Alex stretched over to Jack’s favourite ivory inlaid side table and grabbed them.

"Not so fast, if you're at all fond of your colon." 

Alex just glared and handed over the sewing materials.

Yassen ripped away the last shreds of Alex’s shirt to get a better look at the skin he had to piece back together.

“Not two weeks dead, and you’ve wrecked yourself,” he muttered, sounding irritated, but really mostly concerned. 

He tugged some skin upwards and pulled it taut, having to push Alex’s jeans lower off of his hips. “I lay in the ground for months, and do you see anything like this on me?” he continued under his breath. “Apart from the obvious.” He nodded down at his chest.

Alex rolled his eyes and shuffled a little closer. “Come on.”

Yassen stroked Alex’s hip with the thumb of the hand that held the loose skin over his ribs. “Hold still.” He drove the needle into the flesh, and made the first deep stitch, the one which would anchor the rest. 

Alex winced, watching the steel dig deep, but he stood as still as he could for the assassin, leaning against the man’s inside legs for stability

Yassen growled a little as he swayed on the spot, and locked his thighs around Alex’s fidgeting knees. Alex was obliged to hold Yassen’s shoulders for balance.

"Poor old Jack," Alex sighed, squirming as Yassen made a couple of ticklish invisible stitches down his lower belly.

“She shot you in the stomach.”

“Still. She just about raised me, you know.”

“I also feel sorry for her.” Yassen muttered, biting the end of the thread and snapping it cleanly. “Imagine being responsible for raising a brat like you.”

Alex stuck out his tongue, but regretted it when Yassen caught it between thumb and forefinger, reminding him silently that if he got irritating enough, Yassen could very easily remove his tongue with a simple tug. 

Like he’d do that, Alex ridiculed himself. All the same, he tucked his tongue in securely behind his teeth whenever he vocalized particularly excellent cutting remarks.

“Well.” Alex said. “At least she’s still hot.” He fingered the railway of stitches that Yassen was tracking down his stomach with a rueful smile. “Now the world’s ending, perhaps she’ll get a bit less picky when it comes to boyfriends.”

“Hmmf.” Yassen frowned. “There is nothing wrong with you.”

Alex snorted. “If I looked in a mirror, it would probably shatter.”

“Don’t be stupid, Alex. You look barely a day dead.” 

"I really don't think that you're in the best position to make judgments on attractiveness, Mr. Grey & Decayed."

Yassen touched his remaining ear sensitively. "I don't know what you mean, Alex." 

Alex looked at his companion pityingly. In a rare display of affection driven insensitivity, he patted the assassin's hand where it was darning the flaps of skin around his old belly button to construct him a nice new patchwork one. 

"Yassen." he said, in a patronizing voice, "You've been dead for two years. In that time _the ground has not been kind to you._ "

Alex had a horrible habitual policy of utter honesty. MI6 had really despaired of him as late, what with him wandering about giving away his secret identity, carousing with known assassins, and getting bitten by the undead. It reflected badly on the British Empire, that sort of thing. And frankly, Alex, the rebellious teenager that he was, could not give a shit. 

Besides, being undead was kind of like getting a tattoo. You couldn't really take it back. (Except perhaps with laser therapy, and Alex didn't trust Smithers not to be able to cure practically any malady in the world with something ridiculously innocuous, like sherbert or dishwashing liquid or something.)

Yassen stared at him for a second, before finally closing his mouth with an audible click. He had to open it again, however, in order to spit out a grey tooth.

He zipped his jacket a little higher, covering up his caved in chest, complete with its bullethole perforation.

There was silence for a time. 

 

Yassen pulled the last thread tight, gathering all the skin into a little black shot bundle. Alex eyed it critically. 

“I used to have an innie, you know.”

Yassen made a face that politely asked him whether we wanted to debate this outside, bitch?

"You know, you didn't have to come back here." Alex said casually, ignoring the expression.

Yassen turned his head to listen with his good ear.

"To London, I mean. You could have just run around Europe, snacking on tourists, having the time of your death." 

"I think you're talking about what _you_ would have done, Alex. Although, if you really want to, the Channel is a reasonable walk. Strap on your bits and pieces and France is yours." Yassen offered, only a little stiffly.

"Nah, London's good enough for me these days." Alex sat down, back propped against the sofa, stretched out as long and straight as he could, hoping to keep the organs in place. His head lolled backwards, temple knocking against Yassen's bony knee. "So, why'd you come here?'

"Dying gives you a new perspective on things." Yassen said shortly. His mouth twisted in regret, "You can't do a lot of things you used to. No blood supply..."

Alex raised an eyebrow, staring backwards and upside down at the killer's hunch-shouldered brooding position.

"Additionally, your father would probably be very unhappy if he knew you were a zombie."

Alex pursed his lips, before posing the obvious question. Gosh, he was really turning into Harry Potter these days. "D'you think they're, my parents, you know..."

Yassen looked very sad for a moment. "No. Skeletons cannot walk."

“Huh.”

Alex was suddenly sparked with curiosity. He got up, wincing at the squelching from his abdomen. He turned to Yassen, sitting on the sofa.

“Can I look?” He motioned at his chest cavity.

Yassen let him unzip the jacket completely. Soil trickled out of the folds, and Alex saw again the wound from which he’d watched Yassen bleed to death almost two years before. The flesh of his chest around the wound had sunken in as Alex had noticed before. The blood that had poured out of the man had dried to stiff black on his white shirt.

Alex pulled the shirt free from Yassen’s skin, un-tucking it from his pants at the same time, and he easily tore down the grain of the thin cotton.

He fingered the bullet hole gently, intimately feathering his fingertips across the damaged flesh. It was damp with decay, and some of the skin around it gave in with his press, collapsing to stick against Yassen's ribs.

Yassen watched Alex with halflidded eyes, sad but still interested. He buried his hand in Alex's patchy hair, cradling the back of his skull fondly.

Alex clambered into Yassen’s lap, and clumsily kissed him, pressing close, and rubbing his hips against Yassen’s. 

Nothing.

Yassen patted Alex on the back consolingly. He buried his nose briefly in the blood clotted hair on the top of Alex’s head, and sighed quietly.

“We cannot do that, Alex.”

“What do you mean?” Alex huffed crossly and stretched on his back along the length of the sofa, dragging Yassen down on top of him

Alex took Yassen’s hand – the one with the most digits left on it – and pushed it between them, down the front of his jeans. He was irritated to find that although Yassen grasped him just as firmly as he’d always imagined, there were was exactly nothing stirring down there. Nor was there any evidence of arousal through Yassen’s pants against his thigh.

Alex didn’t know whether to be insulted or embarrassed, so he picked neither, and went for frustration and denial.

“Just…try…harder,” he ground out, teeth gritted stubbornly, as he lifted his hips and threw back his head with a forced moan in the hopes of getting some kind of rise out of Yassen.

“Alex.”

Alex spread his legs a little, and slid his hands down Yassen’s back and into his pants.

“Alex.”

Alex surged up one more time, arching almost angrily against Yassen’s body.

“Alex. We are dead. We possess no heartbeat, no circulation, and barely any nerve feeling,” Yassen reminded him, sadly.

He sat up, stroking Alex’s arm in apology. “I am sorry, Alex, really very sorry.”

Alex nodded and lifted his head, exhausted and crestfallen.

They’d managed to get old brown blood all over the sofa. Jack would throw a fit when she saw it.

Alex sighed, letting his head tip back over the armrest. 

“I see what you meant about blood flow issues.” 

Yassen’s face twitched into an almost-grin. It could have been random neurons hemorrhaging, but that wasn’t nearly as romantic an image. He rested his chin on Alex’s protruding collarbone, and licked his earlobe with a dry tongue.

Alex rolled his eyes and removed his hands from the waistband of Yassen’s pants. He folded them behind his neck instead, and concentrated on frowning like the malcontent undead brat he was supposed to be.

“I’m gonna be a virgin forever,” he moaned quietly.

This time Yassen actually chuckled. It was low and so unexpected that it was actually really fucking scary. 

However, ever since Alex had been taken down by that nasty blow to the head in the biochemical lab in Munster - and then had subsequently gotten right back up - he hadn’t really been scared of anything anymore. Because, really, what was Yassen going to do to him now? Eat him? Hell, he’d probably _like_ that too much for it to be a punishment.

“There are many things,” Yassen said confidently, “which are much better than sex.”

Alex frowned, confused. He counted silently on all six of his remaining fingers to no avail. “Umm. Like what?”

“Mayhem, torture, flesh, companionship.” Yassen said, rubbing his hands over Alex’s stitches, smearing his congealing blood further.

Alex squirmed contentedly under his touch, pressing up into it like a cat.

"Well. I guess so." 

He didn't sound so resigned. More like determined. A zombie on a mission was not something to mess with, and Alex had been a fairly venerable opponent whilst still breathing. If anything was going to stand in the way of Alex Rider getting some, it was going to get knocked out of his path.

 

\- There was a bang on the door, as if someone had started to knock and then realized - what the hell, this is MY HOUSE, goddamnit, and I am here to kick ass and take names, not ask for a cup of soy sauce and a spot of wasabi!

Alex was out from under Yassen and on his feet in the time it used to take his heart to beat. Old paranoid instincts died hard.

“Jack's back" he whispered loudly, grinning at Yassen, unable to hold in his glee.

Yassen grudgingly got up and settled on his heels, into fighting position. “Dibs on her ears.” He warned, as the front door exploded inwards to reveal Jack Starbright, Zombie Killer Extraordinaire. 

“GET BACK, BITCHES, UNLESS YOU WANT TO GO DOWN.”

Jack was brandishing an aerosol can with a lighter creatively taped on, and an old battered Glock. “Get back! I’ve got fire, you monsters!” 

“How lovely.” Yassen said, raising his eyebrows at Alex and lunging for her throat.

Alex shrugged. “She’s always been like that.” He rubbed his stomach ruefully. “Packs a punch with a gun though.” 

Jack razed the sofa, dodging out of Yassen’s grasp thanks to limbs unfettered by muscle decay. “Alex, I’m sorry, it’s come to this, but you’re going down!”

“Told you,” Alex quipped, laughing. He hopped over a patch of smouldering carpet, and went for the heavy vase on the coffee table, lobbing it at the gun toting woman. “Jack’s a black belt.”

Yassen snorted and wrenched the can and the gun out of her hands as she crumpled to the ground. 

“I’ll admit she had a certain charm.” he shrugged, motioning at Alex to dig in.

Alex smiled, “Of course she did. She used to hang out with me, after all.”

"Idiot."


End file.
